The History of Now
by Galimatias
Summary: "Sherman, every great relationship starts from a place of conflict and evolves into something richer." Even if that relationship is between a father and a son who, to the world, are just a dog and his boy. One shot series of moments between the pair to show how much this little sentence is true. Hurt/comfort, but suggestions are taken.
1. Mistake

**Hey y'all! So... I guess I kind of entered a new fandom. Which is just _fantastic_ (sarcasm) seeing how many other stories I have to update. But... when you gotta do it, ya gotta do it. And when I saw this movie, I knew that this had to be done. Another one shot series had to be started.**

**Anyhow, to the topic. This will be a oneshot series of mostly hurt/comfort focusing on the element of the movie that I had wanted to see the most of. Father/son fluff to the max. I will be taking requests, so if you have something you want to see, feel free to leave a comment. ****Not that I discourage comments. Because I don't. Comment away! **

**HOWEVER I need to make something about this clear. Requesting to see minimal character OC's is fine. I do allow that. For example, a new social worker who will appear in one chapter (if she/he's nameless or given no in depth characteristics) or possibly one of Sherman's friends (the same goes for this character). But I WILL NOT be doing any requests of personal, drawn out characters whose purpose is to be in the entirety of the fic OR an _extra adoption fic_. These are the two that are not allowed in this story, and while I will respond cordially to the requests and explain why, I will not be writing any that involve any of these topics. I apologize to those who have already requested it, but these are not things that I ever allow in my fics unless specified.**

**Thanks so much! And, for any of my other readers who happen to check this out, I will be updating this week! This time I swear! I'm home for break and I finally have a moment to breathe! You will see what happens next in all of your favorite stories!**

**Now, onto the story!**

**~Gal**

* * *

o0o

_"I sometimes wake in the early morning & listen to the soft breathing of my child & I think to myself, this is one thing I will never regret & I carry that quiet with me all day long."_

~Brian Andreas

o0o

* * *

It was brought up at bedtime.

But, in the Peabody household, it would seem, most things were brought up at bedtime. Like secrets were stashed under pillows like hotel chocolates, hushed whispers stuck in the folds of sheets, released once they were pulled up to chins and tucked around feet. Skeletons tend to stay in closets until nightfall, anyway, coming out to dance in their waistcoats and frills until mouths open and spilled out the correct combinations to open vaults of chests and make their bones crumble- parchment paper of Shakespeare and documents of the old hissing through the empty caverns.

And, for reasons quite unknown, secrets and revelations were most prevalent nearer to bedtime. If you'd asked Peabody why this was, he would tell you, in too many words to understand, that nearer to nighttime, his guard was lowered significantly. This, of course, was highly untrue. Peabody had the guard of a roman empire stuck around his consciousness and rarely allowed anyone to see past the masses. At nighttime they merely crept back into large horses to hide until disturbed by a stray _I love you_ or an affectionate _goodnight_ that he wasn't sure how to respond to.

But that night had been different. As many nights, much to his relief and dissatisfaction, would tend to be for quite a long time. Because, as much as he loved and hated to admit it, things had changed. For better or for worse, he could not say. But things had begun to change between him and a certain boy who resided within the walls of the penthouse with him. And, up until very recent points, was not much more than 'his boy'. Or, at least, that was how it would seem to an outside world that Peabody hid them both away from whenever they were seen together in public.

And, that night at bedtime, to be precise, the gears that had been stuck together with rust and gum and whatever else had tried to stall them for so long, broke free and shifted. Albeit, slowly, but they shifted all the same.

A yawn sounded from the rear of the WABAC… again. Mr. Peabody sighed, though there was a hint of content in the sound. Relief to hear it. It had woken him from his deep thinking, words running through his head like mathematical equations or red error codes.

_Mistake mistake mistake mistake._

The distraction was much appreciated.

"You're going to bed as soon as we get home," the white dog had taken over the wheel once more. Sherman had almost hit a building. And after doing so well driving a quick inspection showed the boys eyes beginning to droop. Understandable, seeing how long the day had been for all of them. "Right after we land I want your teeth brushed and your face cleaned, understand?"

"But Mr. Peabody…" the redhead complained softly, slumped in one of the chairs.

"No buts. In my opinion we've both suffered far too much excitement for one day and I do believe that ample rest is in order. Besides, you have school tomorrow."

Sherman glanced up forlornly. "But Mr. Peabody-"

"What did I just say about buts!"

"To not to…" came the mumbled reply.

Peabody rolled his eyes heavenward for a moment. "Yes, exactly. Now, I now that your first day was… unsatisfactory. But tomorrow will be different. Don't you have the new club after classes? I thought you were looking forward to that!" There was a mumbled affirmative that didn't sound completely dejected. "And, might I add, as a lover, sponsor and advocate of all things that aid in the pursuit of knowledge, getting a day off of school will be very difficult for you."

"Not even if I'm sick!"

"...that is an exception."

"Oh. Okay."

Landing the machine was fairly easy. Reporters from down below kept trying to follow them in cars and on motorbikes, but stealth mode was an easy fix, and they soon landed in the laboratory. The machine shut down with a few stray whirrs here and there, humming, happy for the break. Sherman yawned as quietly as he could, eliciting a smirk from his guardian, and stretched in place, following the beagle out of the red sliding door.

"I didn' finish my homework though, Mr. Peabody."

"I think that they'll understand. I'll write you a note."

"Do you think my teacher will understand that we time travelled?"

"If she doesn't we'll send her a newspaper the next day. It will be all over the news, anyhow."

"But didn't you ask them to take my name out?" He had, in fact. Sherman wasn't completely wrong. It was more that he threatened to find ways of firing each and every reporter if they ever mentioned Sherman in a broadcast, newspaper or radio report. The boy was supposed to live a normal home life. And while that was already difficult, seeing as where they lived and who he lived with, it could be made easier by allowing him to _not_ see his name scribbled on billboards.

"I'll take care of it all." They exited the laboratory. "Don't fret over anything. It's too late for that now, anyway."

Another yawn. "Okay, Mr. Peabody."

The dog nodded. "Right then. Come Sherman, we're going to get you upstairs." _Come Sherman_…

And, like the good child he was, he obeyed.

_I'm not a dog._ That fact had been made clear in red vortexes and high strain. _I'm not a dog!_ He could see why he'd said it. Beginning to notice the whistles that called out to him, the commands. His son, though his affections for him were great, could sometimes be regarded in such a way as to be treated as he had declared. Only for a few seconds at a time, but he hadn't realized that those seconds had counted.

And yet, as much as his son was quick to declare what he wasn't, he was even quicker to declare what he was.

A _mistake_.

"Mr. Peabody, are you okay?"

The dog shook himself out of his stupor for a moment. "What? Oh… yes, Sherman. I'm fine." He hadn't noticed that they'd been in the elevator, buttons already pushed by the childs hand. "I'm just thinking, that's all." In fact, he was fairly sure he'd be thinking all night, words running through his head. _Mistake, mistake mistake, mistake…_

"-and I've already started learning a ton more in history, but I know more dates than anyone else." His thoughts were broken again by the boys voice. Sherman, finally having accepted that he was not getting out of school the next day had simply switched into a more positive outlook on it all. Peabody smiled in his direction, both stepping out of the elevator when the doors slid open. The boy was happy to simply ramble on about what he knew, what he learned. "But Mr. Peabody, when you had gotten us out of egypt… an'- an' when you got us away from all those Trojan soilers… that was… pretty fantastic! I'm going to know so much for tomorrow! The teacher already likes me, I think, but I can show her everything else that I know an-"

Yes, the boy would most likely not be lying awake with the word mistake in his head.

And maybe, to Peabody's sad conclusion, it was because he didn't regret it.

Perhaps, to his strange horror- and Peabody eyed the boy who meant so much in his life- he truly thought that he was.

It had never occurred to the dog that his boy had ever thought himself worth less than he was. He was content, of course. Mr. Peabody made sure he was well fed and given the home he had never received. But affection from his side was frugal and only appeared with complicated words and sentences. He just hadn't realized it was sparing enough to analyze as anything but love.

And then, the most horror filled thought of them all washed over him like a wave.

If Miss Grunion had truly been able to take him away, Sherman would have gone without knowing what he'd left.

Maybe it was a selfish thought, but he didn't care. The thought of his son, thrown into cars, foster systems, orphanages (a terrible enough image that he knew would give him nightmares for weeks) thinking that he had come from a place where he was liked. Because that's, after all, what all children want. To think that they were simply _liked_. That everything they received was default, like some power setting stashed in the backs of children's heads that read **WHEN BOUGHT FOLLOW DIRECTIONS FOR CARE**. Because mistake meant unintentional, and unintentional meant unwanted, and unwanted meant never wanted and never wanted meant…

… _mistake_.

It was a cruel circle, and even if Sherman had no qualms about it, Peabody was stuck on it, circling around and around.

He had almost lost his boy… his son today. And his son would have left never knowing his father loved him.

"Teeth brushed, Sherman." He had to remember that he still had a son to take care of through his own thoughts. "I'll come say goodnight in fifteen minutes."

"Yes, Mr. Peabody!" The boy stopped his rambled and flashed the dog the crooked smile he was beginning to appreciate more and more by the second.

"And don't forget to pack up your backpack for tomorrow!" he called down the hall last minute, which he was met with a;

"I won't, Mr. Peabody!"

Peabody sighed. It was already going to be a long night for him. Staring down the hall where his boy had left, he felt the fur on the back of his neck stand on end. The fear of losing him, whenever the thought came back, was fresh and new. Thinking it was one thing. Having it happen was another. And they had been just so close. Far too close. And it was becoming more evident by the second just how much he would not be able to survive without his son.

Perhaps he had created the time machine in an act of kindness, a way of educating and a simple afternoon project.

But, perhaps, unknowingly in the back of his mind the dog had created it with the intention of holding time close. Because time, something he never had considered, was too precious. And even if you messed with every strand of it from the past and the future, when it came to the time of a person you cared about, there was no way to fly a time machine there and change every mistake. Those were permanent, and forever would be present.

He had made too many mistakes. But that didn't mean he couldn't start amending for them now.

* * *

As promised, fifteen minutes later, Peabody was pulling blankets up the chin of a very tired, but still very active minded boy. "Do you think that everyone in the past remembers today?"

Peabody chuckled, smoothing the comforter. "I'm sure they do."

"Mr. Da Vinci must have so many more ideas for inventions!" His hands extended above his head like little fireworks. "Just think! He might invent so many more amazing things now! And it would be because of us!"

The dogs paws gently grabbed the still spread fingers, lowering excited arms back to the bed, continuing his tucking job. "It certainly would be. And I'm sure that he'll show us all his new ideas when we visit again."

"Can we visit again soon!" Large brown eyes stared through lenses, that smile spreading across innocent features.

"I don't see why not. This weekend isn't too busy. I have one quick press phone call, but afterwards there isn't too much to do."

"That's pretty fantastic!"

"Yes, indeed it is." He tucked the covers again, fluffed the pillows behind the boys head- something for his hands to do. A frown appeared, pulling down his features for a moment, ideas running quick, interrupted only by algorithms that were trying to take the place of actual needed words and were quickly drowned out by those same necessities.

"Mr. Peabody?" Came the worried voice, head lifting off the pillow.

"Sherman…" because there was no way to say this. How could he possibly explain this? But the words came anyway. "Before I adopted you…" and when they did come, he wasn't sure of what to say. But he said it anyway, "...I blew up my laboratory."

It was the most random thing he had ever said. In his entire existence with Sherman, never had he simply blurted out a fact. Every idea, every pun, had a meaning behind it. And now, here at bedtime, he had simply said _I blew up my __laboratory_ But his brain often worked faster than his mouth and while most days he controlled it, it would seem that need was winning over everything. And something had to connect to the strange comment. Enough to make a point.

Sherman didn't seem bothered by the strange sentence, happy just to talk to his father for another few moments, the attention drunk in like sweet tea. Already wide orbs grew wider. "Really!?"

"Yes. New Yorkers reported shaking. Everyone thought there was an earthquake in the city before I explained what had happened. And it shocked everyone, even me. To this day no one really talks about it. And… after I got you, I created an invention meant to make solar power more accessible and cheaper. But… it set fire to the mayors building."

The boy held back a giggle and Peabody smirked. "I'll admit, it was not one of my shining moments. But there were so many that were far worse to come."

"Really? But…" and the smile faded, but only for a moment, "I thought you did everything right."

This time a laugh did emerge from the beagles mouth. "Hardly. I've destroyed things many a time. And for every few inventions I can promise that there is a failure more massive than all the successes. And, no, you cannot see them." The falling of the boys face was comical. Peabody's smile softened fondly, and he brushed the red hair back. "I've made so many mistakes in my career. And they've all come with some regret and a urge to create something better. But each of them has been a mistake nonetheless."

"I guess not everything you do is all that fantastic, huh, Mr. Peabody?" he leaned back into the pillow happily, smiling, eyes drooping just the slightest.

"No, not everything Sherman. As much as you seem to believe, I'm not perfect. And I've made too many mistakes to count. And almost every invention began with a mistake. But…" his heart beat for a moment, thumped against his ribcage as he watched his boy drink in every word, susceptible to believing everything his father said because he looked up to him more than any other. "...but not everything I've done is a total mistake."

The boy said nothing this time, just listened.

"The time machine, for instance. Yes, there was a mistake here or there. And some of my ideas for peace have been good, but will never always work. But… I don't wish to change them. However, there are some things I wish I could go back and change." A breath. "Some of the ways that I chose to raise you were… questionable, I suppose."

"But I love traveling in the past!"

"And I would never change that." the dog explained coolly. "But there are… other things. Because, you see, Sherman, all parents make mistakes when raising their children." Another beat. "Sherman, I think… what I mean is… everything I've done has come with mistakes."

"Everything?"

"Everything." A beat. "Well, not everything." A breath. "Out of everything I've done, Sherman, there has only been one thing that remains free of mistakes."

"What?"

A larger breath, a smile, a brush of red hair. "My choice to adopt you."

And Sherman blinked. Because that was all he could do. Just take in what his father had said with a sort of unbelievable awe.

"I'm just telling you this because I need you to know that while I have made mistakes, you will never be one of them. And… I think that sometimes even I forget how much you mean to me. But that doesn't matter right now. What I need you to know is that while some of my choices with you have been mistakes, you never were. Do you understand?"

Sherman was silent, brows crunched together in deep thought. "But… but I thought that… I said so many bad things today… and Miss Grunion…" a shaky breath. Mr. Peabody waited. "I thought that since… since it was all my fault you might regret… regret…" brown eyes looked up, pleading, "_me_."

"No," paw brushing hair. "Never Sherman. I could _never_ regret you."

"Not even when I'm being bad?"

"Not even then." A smile, father looking down at son. "Though this may be hard for you to believe, with all the amazing machines I've created, and the time machine and where we live, you, Sherman, are the greatest thing to ever happen to me."

And he promptly found his arms filled with Sherman.

The boy buried his face into the fur at his father's shoulder, glasses lifting from their place on his son's nose to bump the dogs collar bone, bow tie tickling his ear. There was a string of mumbled words that Peabody hardly understood accompanied by warm tears that soaked through his white coat, but he hardly cared, content to just hold his son as tightly as he could, assure himself that he was there, not taken away. He was still his, and they would be together for a long time. Peabody breathed deeply, his nose filled with the smell of his boy, and he had to shake the relieved blur from his eyes.

A sniffle, a light snort, "I love you, Mr. Peabody." That had been easy to understand, and he heard it clearly. Words caught in his own throat, Peabody just lightly brushed his sons back, rough pads moving across space man pajamas.

"I…" the words were stuck, as they seemed to always be. "I…" why couldn't he just say it. "I have a deep regard for you as well… Sherman…" and, for one more day, they would be stuck. Because those words seemed to follow the rule of one day at a time, as he feared they would continue to do forever. Sherman stayed silent against his fathers shoulder after that. Maybe it was for comfort, maybe it was disappointment. Either would have been applicable, Mr. Peabody knew, and he cursed himself for not being able to do more.

But when Sherman did pull away, tracks still shimmering down cheeks, wiped away by hurried fists, he was smiling. Beaming up at his father with more love than Mr. Peabody could ever give. And in that moment, he confirmed that, no, Sherman would never be a mistake. And he had meant every word he had said. His son really was the best thing to happen to him. And even if he'd never be able to prove it, somehow Sherman still had no qualms about letting his father know just how much love he held for him. And, in Peabody's opinion, it was more than he deserved. But that was the wonder of Sherman. He would always disagree, and always make sure Mr. Peabody, in some strange way, knew it.

"Right," Peabody plucked the glasses from Sherman's face, folding the ends and placing it by his bedside. "Its time for you to sleep. I'll wake you up tomorrow for school. Do you know what you're wearing?"

"Yes, Mr. Peabody."

"And you remembered to put the red announcement folder in your backpack."

"Yes, Mr. Peabody."

"And you know what you want for lunch tomorrow."

That took a longer moment to reply. "Peanut butter sandwich, Mr. Peabody."

"Good." He hopped off the bed, placing his paw on his sons brow for the last time that night. "Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay." But as he was walking towards the door. "Mr. Peabody?"

"Yes, Sherman."

"I don't regret you either."

Peabody's heart stalled. Mouth moved to respond, he swallowed twice. "Thank you, Sherman." And he flicked off the light, closing the door behind him. For a long moment he stood by the door, hand on the knob. The statement had made no sense and total sense at the same time. But it had done something to him. He shook his head, but the buzzing would not leave. And neither would the grin that was plastered to his face.

He looked back at the door, nodded at the pictures on the wall in approval, and then headed towards his own room to bed.

Perhaps tomorrow he'd try to get the words, stuck in his throat, out for the first time. He was beginning to realize that he'd do even that for Sherman.

That night, though his thoughts were somewhat invaded by haunting words, they were chased away by a small child saying "Mr. Peababa" until every one the nightmares faded into blue time tubes and happy memories. And even if he'd be forever haunted by what had been said, the same small boy was, most of the time, the one to save him from those thoughts and dreams. Not far from real life at all. And reason to keep hoping.

* * *

**Aaaaand that's all I got! For now, of course. Like I said, there are a few more already written, and suggestions are always much appreciated. This is going to be another hurt comfort fic because**

**a) people seem to like those**

**b) after "Protect", I found that a lot of people seem to like when I do angst. So, like the people pleaser/under peer pressure person I am (alliteration!) I am always happy to give the people what they want**

**Hope that this made you feel all happy inside! More to come!**

**Read and Review because, like every broke college student, these are my forms of both love and currency. GIVE ME WHAT YOU GOT!**

**~Gal**


	2. Nightmare

**So I wrote this one is about two hours. If you see any problems with it... I'm going to fix them! I swear!**

**And the next authors note will have thank yous to everyone who reviewed as well as answers to questions that were asked! So no, I swear, not ignoring you! I will be making sure to get back to each and every one of you by tomorrow or by the next update.**

**Next update... well... it's right now between Sherman discovers he has asthma (hard for dog who runs everywhere and drags his son along... yeah... not fun) and possibly the beginning of a 2/3 part series with more angst and fluff than I think you're ready for. So, we'll see!**

**Warning: This is far from my best one. But I tried! So enjoy it or not, know that some effort was put into this for your entertainment and also know that a better one will be coming shortly!**

**This update brought to you by too little sleep and corn chips!**

**~Gal**

* * *

o0o

_"Don't stand unmoving outside the door of a crying baby whose only desire is to touch you. Go to your baby. Go to your baby a million times. Demonstrate that people can be trusted, that the environment can be trusted, that we live in a benign universe."_

~Peggy O'Mara

o0o

* * *

When Sherman was two years old his father had taken him to meet Sigmund Freud. The two of them had been welcomed with open arms and a silver platter laden with teas and pastries. Sherman, at the age where sugar was, in his mind, the only real form of nutrition that ones body needed dove for the sweets. His father, at an age where getting three hours of sleep a night because of a child on a permanent sugar rush, stopped him quickly. But, in the end, the three sat in the office together, Peabody drinking black tea and thanking some deity for giving him the idea of going back to a time where caffeine was present and Sherman thinking about not much at all, a single parent approved cupcake in his hand.

The office was a lovely one. Small, but homey. One wall was completely covered in bookshelves, each jammed with far too many literary works than anyone could count (unless you asked Peabody, who would humbly say 677.5), busts of other famous psychologists and a few knick knacks that seemed to be doing nothing more than collecting dust. Mr. Peabody and the renowned psychologist both sat in rich brown high back chairs, while Sherman squirmed happily on a chaise draped like a roman god in persian carpets and blankets.

"I 'ave to say, Peabody, j'you 'ave a lovely boy."

"Thank you, Dr. Freud. He is a rather pleasing subject, is he not."

"Indeed," the doctor frowned at the use of word choice, but didn't delve deeper. Instead he scratched a bit of chin that hid under his beard, taking a long sip of his own tea. "An' you bring him to my office why? He not plagued psychologically, no? Relatively normal child, yes?" As if to answer his question, Sherman looked up from his treat, face covered in pink frosting, and kicked his feet happily. Mr. Peabody sighed, reaching for a napkin.

"Yes, he's normal, I suppose. A little smarter of course-"

"Bah! Smartness. What you know about children and brain, Peabody? No'ting, dat ees vhat."

Peabody didn't respond, trying to keep Sherman still enough to actually wipe frosting off his face. Sherman wiggled, trying to move away from the offending cleaning device. "No!" He said, "No! Want fro'ting!"

"Yes, I know you like frosting but- _how did you get it in your hair?_- I'd rather you didn't bathe in it, Sherman."

"No! Want fro'ting! My fro'ting!" In protest of the act of ridding him of his now favorite facial accessory, Sherman smeared frosting across his fathers face to his nose. Peabody backed away, smell of strawberry and sugar filling his nasal passages. He sneezed, growled slightly, and proceeded to wipe his own face off to the sound of Sherman's giggles.

"You see, Peabody, normal child."

"I didn't say he wasn't normal," the dog said around another napkin, glaring at the child who proceeded to lick frosting off his fingers, getting more of it in his hair than in his mouth. "Just superior in intelligence when compared to others his age range."

A snort from the psychologist. "Please. _Sie sind verrückt_, Peabody. _Crazy_! Children are children. The child prodigy, they are no different than the normal child. A _kinder_ intelligence is in it's imagination and dreams. Has Sherman's dreams been fairly normal?"

The child bounced happily. "I dream I was a dinosaur!" Followed by what Peabody could only assume to be a T-Rex roar. Peabody rolled his eyes, but smirked.

"I do not know if that is normal, but I'm going to assume that it is."

"Of course!" The white beard bobbed happily. "Dreams are all different, but all symbolize different things."

"Fascinating, Mr. Freud." The dog mused, finally getting his son still enough to weed pink goop from his red hair. "I have heard of your dream theories and I find them all incredible."

"Ja, ja! They are new theories that I come up with." The man, practically buzzing with excitement, tea in his cup quivering with his hand. "I try on new patients soon, but first, I tell you."

"I'd be most- Sherman, stop moving- _honored_, Dr. Freud." The dog licked his thumb, wiping sugar off of Sherman's brow. "But wouldn't you rather discuss them when Sherman isn't here."

"Bah. Sherman ees old enough to hear. You see, I have developed a new theory that all 'umans dream about is s-"

Sherman's ears were clamped shut after that with frantic paws. And when he tried to wriggle away he was reluctantly handed another sugary treat. Anything to keep him from hearing what the doctor was saying in a rather loud voice, arms flying, hands making crude motions in the air. And when Sherman was allowed to hear, the Doctor had moved onto other topics.

"Nightmares, dey are all that really confuse me. I believe them to be remnants of past anxiety, haunting brain like ghost."

"I think most would agree, Dr. Freud."

"J'yes, but from where do nightmares come from eef d'ey are not real dreams. Vhat are dey den."

"Perhaps they are little mysteries."

The bearded man shook his head. "No. Eet weel be discovered. I weel discover. Until then, we just say that nightmares are anxiety, yes? Fear that must be released."

"I don't know. I always thought that when you had a nightmare, you simply had to remind yourself that it's existence wasn't palpable." Mr. Peabody shrugged. He'd had very few nightmares in his life, and whenever he did have one, it always helped him to simply remind himself of the ridiculousness of it all.

"No, Peabody! Nightmares must be discussed! Anxiety must be released."

"I read that when children have nightmares you're supposed to remind them of what is real and what is not. Sherman hasn't had anything too drastic happen in his life, anyhow. So there would be nothing to be afriad of."

"Peabody, Peabody, Peabody! No! 'Specially children! You must comfort. You must talk! The brain is amazing, my friend, and fear can be created from smallest element! We are 'uman! Tragedy, eet ees programmed into your minds already. And children, dey are first to discover this. An' vhen dey do, parent must be ready to help."

Peabody sighed, shrugged. "I'll try it. But I can't guarantee that any nightmares will occur. Sherman is a normal happy boy."

Freud didn't press the matter, but he shook his head enough to send his beard waving, sipping at his tea again, content to watch the now hyperactive child try to jump off the chaise. "Fly! Fly!"

"No, Sherman!"

But it was rare that Doctor Sigmund Freud was wrong. And though Sherman was a "normal child", nightmares did come. His first when he was two and a half, though it had resulted in little more than whimpering lightly, kicking sheets off the bed, and waking with no memory and cold feet. The second had been more memorable, and Peabody had ran into the room of a screaming three year old, consoling him with the calm logic that no, the snails from dinner in France 1920 did not have family that was going to find or harm him, and that he was happy that his son had at least tried new things. The third, when Sherman was five, was a mild one as well. The boy had dreamt of being chased by a pack of howling animals. His father was none the wiser about that one, but did ask why, when going to meet Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, he didn't want to hear the tale of the Baskervilles.

It wasn't until Sherman was seven and a half that the dog even understood what the doctor had meant.

* * *

"Did you remember to put the permission slip into your bag?" Peabody tucked in his boy, removing the glasses from their place tucked behind his ears, placing them next to his bed.

"Yes!" Sherman's feet kicked happily, disturbing Peabody's smoothing job. The dog sighed, pulling at covers once more and watching new wrinkles vanish. "I can't believe that we're going to see Van Gogh's paintings! Do you think anyone would believe that I helped him paint one!"

"I don't think so, Sherman."

"But you know I did, right. Because he kept my finger painting there."

"Yes, I do remember. Did you brush your teeth?"

"Yes. And they would never ever believe that you have one of his paintings! Can I show my friends when they come over? Can my friends come over? I've never had friends over!"

"That painting is locked away for a reason, Sherman. It's priceless. I have been thinking about donating it lately to the museum."

"But Van Gogh _gave_ it to _you_!"

"And it was very generous of him," the dog smirked, adjusting himself where he sat on the edge of Sherman's bed. "But there is no place for it in this home. The color scheme hardly matches. And too much exposure to light will ruin it, especially since a good portion of this house is made of windows." A pause. "But yes, you may have your friends over."

"Cool! You'll like them! Rajit wants to be a scientist and Carl wants to work for NASA one day, and you've already met Penny. She used to hate them, but now she actually likes them." He took a breath. "She wanted to cut hair, which is okay, I guess. But now she wants to be a historian! Isn't that cool, Mr. Peabody!"

"Quite interesting, Sherman. And I am sure I will like all your friends in due course. But for now," and he stroked back his sons hair, "get some sleep, alright? You have school tomorrow."

"Okay." The boy shuffled down into sheets, yawning. "G'night Mr. Peabody."

"Goodnight, Sherman."

"I love you, Mr. Peabody."

The dog stalled, smiled, turned back at the door, glasses gleaming under the hallways halogens. "I love you as well, Sherman." Because it was hard to say. But he was saying it, words long ago caught in throats finally allowed to be released, the hidden keys discovered and broken.

Sherman turned over in his bed and yawned once again, jaw clapping shut. There were sounds from the other side of his door- Mr. Peabody navigating through the apartment, cleaning the already near spotless kitchen, picking up and shuffling papers. Outside the city buzzed with cars, a few stray cats yowled, honking from busses and a short rumble as a train passed somewhere far below. Sounds he knew, was familiar with.

His eyes finally drifted closed, and he fell into a deep...

deep...

sl-

* * *

_"Come, Sherman," the large woman grabbed his hand, pulling her to the beat up purple car that sat nearby. "No child belongs with a dog, anyway. We're going to find you a new home. A better home."_

_"No! Let me go!" He was tugged, his shoulder popping at the movement. "Ow! You're hurting me!" But she continued to pull him away. "Mr. Peabody! Mr. Peabody, help!" But this time his words reached no one, echoing off of empty walls made from city skyscrapers and stars. "Please! Let me go!"_

_But she didn't. Her hands were freezing cold and her nails dug into his wrist, drawing blood. The more he squirmed the tighter she gripped, and everything she said came out in cobra like hisses. "Don't struggle. You'll only make this harder on yourself. And you should be thanking me. For all you know one day that dog have lashed out and bitten you again."_

_"That dog," he tried to pull away. His arm was on fire, "that dog is my dad! He'd never hurt me! He-"_

_"Loves you?" She scoffed. Her tiny feet clipped the ground, slicing into gravel, digging miniature graves with her heels. "Don't make up stories, Sherman. Lying boys don't get adopted."_

_"Stop it!" But they were still walking, and he was useless to do much else. Just watch as the atmosphere changed, the land around him shifting from city landscape to the penthouse to his own room. Memories of his life there flashing- he and his father sitting at the table together for dinner, being tucked in as if it had taken place mere hours prior, saying i love you in lit doorways. Each time, he called out to his father, who seemed to not hear him. Or maybe, just maybe, he truly didn't care. And after that he was dragged on through tunnels too dark to see through._

_The woman finally stopped, Sherman following suit, hanging from her grip like a puppet whose strings had been taken hold of by a new master, handling scissors too close to their shimmering tangles. In front of them was a gaping maw of a tube made from blue waves that pulsed and beat and whooshed and made the ground below his feet shiver. The two stood, staring for a long while. Sherman's hair tickled with each breeze that came from the aura's, and he swallowed._

_"Why are you doing this?" Because that was all he could ask. All he could think to ask. "Tears pricked at his eyes and he scrubbed them away with his free hand. "I just want to go home," he choked, "I just want my dad."_

_Slowly, as if peeling back a candy bar, the womans fingers lifted from his secured wrist. "Look," she pointed. "Do you see why I'm taking you away."_

_On his wrist, a half moon of shimmering flesh and punctured stars, was a bite mark._

_Sherman found he couldn't breathe. "Why… who…"_

_"Oh Sherman," and the voice shifted, changed, turned into millions of other voices taunting him on cafeteria floors, the smell of tuna taking over every sense he had. "Don't you know what happens to dogs that _bite_?"_

_And he was pushed down the time tube. Screaming as he fell, trying to catch hold of anything that would keep his steady, greedy fingers needing to grab something, hold something. But there was nothing, and he continued to fall, all the while voices plagued his mind, filling his pores with lava and venomous intent._

**_You're dads a dog, so you're a dog too._**

**_Say it, Sherman. Say you're a dog._**

**_I'm not a dog…_**

**_I'm not a dog!_**

**_Sit_**

**_Stay_**

**_Heel_**

**_Come_**

And then;

_**Watch...**_

_He fell hard onto solid concrete, shadows of bars interrupting his vision. Sherman ran forward as soon as he had found his grounding, grasping at cool metal that allowed him not entrance to the other side. The smell was sterile, but not clean. It stung his nose and wrapped him in cool ice. He shook his head, sneezed, rubbed his nose, trying to rid it of the feeling that was tingling along his spine- as if he was under observation, waiting for his turn._

_A door slammed open to his right, green light filtering the room. Instruments he hadn't realized were there- scalpels, needles, cruel and sharp edges- winked at him cruelly. There was shouting, pleading, shattering of glass. Two large men stumbled in. Between them, one grabbing an arm each, was Mr. Peabody._

_"Please!" The dog was trying to get away, "Please, I have a son! He needs me! You have to understand! Please!"_

_"Mr. Peabody!" Sherman shook the bars. His vision blurred, tears finally making their way out of his eyes, but he didn't notice. Not even as his small cage began to fill up with water. "Mr. Peabody!" Another shake, rattling filling the already heavy air, transforming from sound into tiny rocks that bounced off the walls. But no one would listen, just dragging the dog to the silver table, strapping him to it's surface._

_"You have to understand!" And without his glasses or bowtie, the dog looked more like a dog than Sherman had ever seen. "He needs me! My son needs me! He doesn't know that I love him! Just let me tell him that I love him first, please!"_

_"Mr. Peabody!" Still, no one would listen. The salty water had reached Sherman's neck._

_"Don't worry, Mr. Peabody." The door closed, and the woman from before walked in. She wore a white suit and a nurses cap on top of her huge hair, now wriggling and squirming with snakes. "This will be over quickly. And we'll make sure that Sherman is well taken care of."_

_The dog struggled, pleaded, called out to no one._

_Sherman shook the bars again. "Mr. Peabody!" And then. "Dad!"_

_But still, no one listened. Not even as the IV was lowered to his father's arm and Sherman, from behind bars, finally drowned in his own tears._

* * *

The boy awoke with a gasp, wrenching himself out of covers that had tangled around his body, constricting him in their tight hold. One tendril was around his wrist, and he yanked it off quickly. His body shook, and he couldn't figure out if it was simply because he was cold, or perhaps every moment of what he had imagined had decided to take up residence in his muscles, until there were too many to stay still. He swiped at his eyes, and was not surprised to find tears. Tears that didn't seem to want to stop. A sob ripped through his chest, and he blinked in the dark.

Because the room was just so dark.

Like traveling through tunnels with angry words and IV needles, dark. And the more he thought about it, the more he remembered just how it had all ended. His thumb stroked his wrist which remained unbitten. But marks could heal. And, looking around, the boy couldn't recognize his own room. Ideas of orphanages and foster care struck him. And then the scariest thought of all.

What if that was where he was.

Psychologists often link reality and dreams together with a bridge made from steel, absence of any wires. THe idea that, no matter how strong, the structure, with no way of allowing movement through harsh winds or weather, will break all the same, shatter, and all the occupants will tumble into chasms below. Dreams become reality as quickly as reality becomes dreams. And for a child, sitting in a dark room, dreams confuse themselves in fun houses filled with mirrors- leaving things unrecognizable and confusing.

And Sherman forgot just where he was, who he was, what had happened, in one of those mirrors, staring back at possibilities and alternate universes.

And in that moment, he was a child in an orphanage, and his father was…

Sherman shook his head, another sob tearing away at his organs. With no thoughts about anything, he leapt out of bed. The blankets caught his ankles, and he fell, but was up moments later. The world without glasses was a blurry mess, but the boy didn't seem to notice that behind other veils that plagued him. His door was opened quickly and he ran through memorized darkness into a room not far away. Hands groped for the handle, found it, turned it, and he threw himself into a new kind of darkness.

There was a yelp as the sound of the door slamming awoke the other occupant of the room. Another scrambled, lost balance, and soon the light beside the large bed flicked on. Mr. Peabody searched for his glasses, fumbling to put them properly on his face. "Sherman! What in the galaxy do you think you're" he looked up, blinked. "Sherman!?" Because the one thing he did not expect to see was his son, standing at his door with- his back pressed against the wood, panting and sobbing, face shining with tears "Sherman! What is the matter! Are you alright!"

That was all the invitation the boy needed, running towards the bed and throwing himself on top of it, scrambling to his father as if he had lost all mobile dexterity. The dog grabbed his son to steady him, but soon found the boy clutching at him desperately.

"Sherman!"

"Don't go!" The boy wailed. "Please don't go! I'm sorry! I'll be good, I promise! Just don't go! Don't let them take me away!"

"Sherman, no one is taking you away!"

"They… they said… th-that do-dogs who b-bite…!" It was all he could get out between hiccups and quick inhales of breath. "Please Mr. Peabody!"

"Sherman! For goodness sake, take a breath!" He held the boy tighter, because that seemed like the right thing to do. Never in his life with the boy had something as drastic as this awoken the red head. He'd always had reality under control, as much as any child could. It was a first, and he wasn't quite sure how to handle any of it. Some part of him wished he had listened more closely to Freud. Perhaps he'd read a book on his theories again later in the week. But for now, he had a still sobbing child with him.

"Sherman, breathe. Take a breath, alright?" The boy obeyed, albeit shakily, finally catching enough air to at least stop the sobs. "Good. Now, what was this dream about? Lets analyze it shall we."

His boy sniffed, nodded, leaned into his fathers touch. "Miss Grunion took me away." Another sniff. A snort.

"Why?" This was how he was supposed to deal with this, wasn't it?

"Because… because you bit me." Oh… well… he hadn't expected that… "But I know you never would, but they still took me! Because they said you weren't a good dad. And then… I was with you at the vet… I was with you… and…. and…" and with that, the boy was back into a fresh bout of tears.

Mr. Peabody's spine crawled. Because that was not something the boy was supposed to be thinking about. Of course he knew. He was an animal, was he not, and he'd heard plenty of stories. But truly, it hadn't been fair. He'd heard what the woman had said to his son over the wails of sirens and the chatter of crowds. Nothing a child should have to hear in any way. And he'd had to listen to every word spill like hot blood from between her teeth.

"Sherman, it's alright. I'm here. I'm still here and I'm physically fine." The boy sniffled. Nodded. Mr. Peabody sighed. "Look." He offered Sherman his paw, and the younger of the two took it gratefully, still avoiding eye contact, but playing with the pads against the white fur. The still warm paws that wiggled and grasped his fingers in his own. There was another nod against his chest. "You had a nightmare. That is all. Just chemicals in your brain reacting and giving you hyperactive images that point towards pact events or grievances. Nothing to worry about." He smoothed the boys hair. "Now, off to bed-"

"No!" He had had him so calm just seconds ago, and now the boy looked about ready to cry again. Grabbing his fathers tighter in his grip he shook his head against the fur, "Please, Mr. Peabody. Please, can I sleep here!?"

"Sherman, you know-"

"Please Mr. Peabody!" Large brown eyes stared up, begged, screamed through pigmentation and watery marks that this was just what he wanted, what he needed. To please not reject him after all of that.

_You must comfort. You must talk! The brain is amazing, my friend, and fear can be created from smallest element! We are 'uman! Tragedy, eet ees programmed into your minds already. And children, dey are first to discover this. An' vhen dey do, parent must be ready to help._

Peabody sighed. But he did lift the covers as an invitation. Sherman detached himself long enough to snuggle down until the covers reached his nose, watching as his father reached over and turned out the light once again. "Alright then," said through the darkness. "for tonight. And only for tonight." Sherman nodded. But as soon as Mr. Peabody had settled himself, the child moved to press against his parent, bury his face into his side. Peabody sighed, rolled his eyes, but drifted off.

And it wasn't long before the beagle himself was woken up, gasping. Remnants of dreams stuck to the sheets. Shouting. Watching his boy dragged away with no way to grab him. Watched as the boy was packed into brown boxes, screaming his name to one who could hear. _Mr. Peabody, Mr. Peabody! Dad!_

And when he did wake up, heartbeat finally slowing, trying to convince himself of the same thing he had told his son so recently, that nightmares weren't real, they weren't real, they weren't real, so there was no need to fear them, he found that he still feared them. But the sound beside him, a child's slowed breathing, fingers still kneading into his fur in sleep, allowed his breath to calm, his swallows and gasps to leave him.

Sigmund Freud had a point. And, though prideful, the dog had to admit it. Especially after sinking back into covers, and pulling his boy close, the smell of his son sinking into the air. It took more than just logic to rid one of fear. Sometimes it took another person to assure you that everything would forever be okay. would forever be okay.


End file.
